Chapter 42
42
Ezra
“What do you think?” I ask Kane.
Before he can respond, Ethan slaps him on the back. “Not too bad, son.”
We enter the dining hall at the golf and country club, and before my brother removes his flat bill hat, I catch a glimpse of a grin. I can’t help but smile too. Ethan has been more of a father in the last two hours than Rob ever was to either of us.
“I won’t be a pro any time soon, but I guess it was all right.”
Ethan winks at me like teens, eh ?
“I had a blast,” I chime in. “Thank you.”
“You sure you don’t want to go for a full eighteen?”
Kane scoffs. “There are nine more holes?”
He downs an entire glass of water at the table before our food arrives, and while Ethan and I get into a friendly debate about the New York City public school system, I notice Kane picking at his food. The kid is like a garbage disposal, so this raises a red flag. “Is your steak okay?”
“Yeah.” He swirls his fork over his potatoes. “My stomach doesn’t feel great. Must be something I ate earlier. ”
His cheeks are flushed, and his hairline is sweaty, but it’s a million degrees on Long Island today, so that isn’t unexpected.
When Kane excuses himself to use the restroom, Ethan leans in across the table. “You’re a good man to that boy.”
I straighten, caught off guard by the compliment. “Oh, I don’t know?—”
“Ah-ah.” He points at me with his fork. “Don’t do that. My son does that too. Deflects compliments on his parenting ability.”
“I just…” Lips pressed together, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “I just want to make him happy.”
“I may not be your father,” Ethan says, “but can I offer you a piece of parenting advice?”
“By all means, please.”
“It’s not our job to make our kids happy.”
“But—”
“No.” His voice is stern but benevolent. “It’s our job to keep them safe and fed and mostly clean and to love them unconditionally. But it’s not our job to make them happy. Nor is it their job to make us happy.”
I shift in my seat as I let his words sink in. “How do I know if I’m doing a good job, though? It’s not like he’s passing out gold stars.”
“Our children are not going to praise us. Sure, when they’re young, they tell us we’re the greatest dad in the world. But then, for many years, that stops, and we’re forced to put up with their shit.” He laughs.
I huff in return, wondering if one day I’ll understand that firsthand.
“I’ll have to share those stories another day. The point is that though they may not tell us we’re doing a great job in the obvious sense, they tell us in other ways.”
“How so? ”
“Does Kane come to you if he has a problem? Does he tell you about his day?”
When I don’t answer right away, Ethan takes a sip from his IPA and regards me. “Did Millie ever tell you about the day she came out to us as queer?”
With a quick look toward the restroom, I shake my head.
“My older brother is queer, and we did our best to raise Millie and Asher as allies, so when they were in elementary school, my wife and I sat them down and told them that regardless of their sexual orientation, they’d have our full support. That we’d love them no matter what.”
Damn, I want to be Ethan when I grow up . I don’t know what that says about my daddy kink, but I’ll worry about that another day.
“How did they respond?”
“Asher asked if he could have ice cream, and Millie wanted to know if she could go back to playing with her Barbies.” He chuckles. “They were kids. I didn’t expect them to say ‘gee, thanks, Dad; you’re so cool,’ but when the time finally came for Millie to come out—which, to be honest, was no surprise —she told us during family dinner. The whole spiel was matter-of-fact, like she was telling us about her favorite television show.”
Imagining such a safe space for Millie warms my heart just as much as it pains me that Kane wasn’t afforded that same experience by his own father.
“She didn’t open up about how confusing that time was for her until later,” he says. “But she did eventually. I’ll take it as a win.”
That kid tells me every nutty detail about working at Bubbe’s. That’s a good sign, right? “I think he’s more comfortable around Millie than he is with me.”
“That’s understandable. My daughter’s a gem.”
“The brightest.” I beam. She’s been a safety net for my brother in so many ways. No one could ever replace his mother, but Millie has been the next best thing.
“From what I’ve seen, you’re doing an incredible job. Try not to be so hard on yourself.”
Kane returns then, walking stiffly and with a hand on his abdomen.
“You okay?”
Clutching the back of his chair, he doubles over. “I don’t feel well. Can we leave?”
“Of course.”
We say a rushed goodbye to Ethan, then we catch a train back into the city. Kane is somber, resting his head on my shoulder the whole way home. When we return to the apartment, he refuses to eat, though I do coerce him into taking a pain reliever before he lies down.
When dinner time rolls around and he’s still sleeping, unease washes over me. But when I wake him, he swears he’s just tired. He reluctantly drinks water and eats a few crackers, then goes back to bed.
I fall asleep watching reruns of The Office but am startled awake at dawn by a noise in Kane’s room. For a moment, I experience déjà vu. Someone I love is kneeling in front of the toilet.
“Hey, hey, hey.” I approach him, keeping my tone calm. “What’s going on?”
He chokes and sputters, saliva sliding down his chin. I snag a washcloth from under the sink and wipe at his mouth. His arms are wrapped around his stomach, his shoulders are curled in, and his face is pinched.
I sit with him until he’s heaved up the meager contents of his stomach, then help him to the sofa. One touch to his forehead confirms that he’s got a fever.
Heart racing and worry whirling in my brain, I reach for my phone. “Mom? ”
“Ezra,” she asks, her tone almost as panicked as mine. “What’s wrong?”
“How fast can you get here?”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Kane is sick.”
My brother lets out an agonized groan from the sofa.
“Shit. Actually, can you meet us at the hospital?”
“You’re scaring me. What’s?—”
“I don’t know. Yesterday he said his stomach hurt, but I assumed it was something he ate. The pain is much worse this morning. He won’t eat and?—”
“Where’s the pain?”
Raking a hand through my hair, I dart over to Kane, who is in a fetal position on the sofa with a trash can by his side, and relay the question.
“Just below the belly button.”
“I bet it’s his appendix,” Mom says.
“ Fuck .”
“What? What is it?” Kane’s voice is weak and strained.
“She thinks it’s your appendix, buddy.” Sitting next to him, I rub his back.
His pale, sweaty face scrunches in pain.
“Do you think you can stand?”
“Hurts… so… bad,” he cries.
“Ezra, hang up. Text me which hospital. It’s going to be okay.”
We nearly miss the Uber I order because it takes so long to get downstairs and out of the building. Once we arrive in the emergency room, everything moves quickly. Kane’s blood-curdling scream when the physician presses on his abdomen pierces my heart. Blood and urine tests rule out infections, and a CT confirms the appendix has not yet ruptured.
After he’s wheeled back for surgery, my mom rubs a hand on my nervously bouncing knee. “He’s going to be fine. It’s laparoscopic. Recovery won’t be bad.”
I hyperfixate on the cacophony of noises in the waiting room. The rerun of CSI playing too loudly, the rustling of cough drop wrappers, and whispered conversations all make me want to crawl out of my fucking skin.
I’m so dysregulated that when my mom speaks again, I flinch. “Is Millie okay? She was looking forward to this weekend.”
My heart plummets. “Shit.” I startle the middle-aged couple in the corner. “I forgot to call her.”
Ignoring the sign that reads No Cell Phones , I dig the device out of my pocket.
She answers on the first ring. “Hi. I just checked into the Airbnb. I had no idea it was on the water.”
Fuck if this isn’t going to make it that much harder.
“Hey, honey…” The words come out in my middle school teacher voice. Dammit.
Mom pats me again on the knee.
“Listen. There’s been an emergency.”
“ What ?” Distress wraps around her voice like a vine.
“Kane had to have an appendectomy. I’m so sorry, baby, but I can’t make it out this weekend.” My voice hitches and my heart constricts at the thought of her precious but disappointed face.
She gasps, the line between us crackling. “Is he okay?”
“He’s in surgery now, but he should be. I’m so sorry, Mills.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
My throat goes tight. “Because I?—”
“No,” she stops me. “I’m fine. The most important thing is Kane. Yeah, sure, it sucks that I won’t see you, but you need to be there.”
The way she’s putting Kane’s needs above her own makes me fall in love with her even more.
“What about next weekend?” I ask .
“Can’t. We’ll be flying. I think I’m free the weekend after that. Could you come to New Orleans?”
“I have that thing for work.”
“Hmm. We’ll figure it out.”
We don’t figure it out. Kane recovers well, consuming more homemade matzo ball soup than I’ve eaten in a lifetime, but weeks go by without any concrete plans to visit Millie.
What about this day?
Tickets are nine hundred dollars.
Don’t you dare spend that much money.
I have back-to-back shows, and I’m on vocal rest that weekend. It won’t be any fun.
“This fucking sucks,” I finally admit to her one evening.
“It does. I’m sorry.”
I breathe deeply, willing the ache in my chest to abate. “I thought it would be easier.”
She exhales. “I did warn you.”
“That’s not helpful.” My tone comes out much harsher than intended. I’m so tired and I miss her.
“That’s not what—I’m just trying to?—”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Ezra…”
“It’s been a long day, and this isn’t working.”
“What?” she gasps. “ This isn’t working ? Are you breaking up with me?”
My lungs seize, and it takes me a handful of heartbeats to remember how to breathe. “Shit. No . I meant this conversation . Just… It’s been a long day, and I need to ge t some rest.”
“But you promised that if things got tough, we’d talk to each other about it.” The pain behind her voice is unmistakable.
“I know. But it’s really late, and I’m tired. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret.”
“Like what?”
“Millie. Please .” The tag on my shirt brushes across my back like eighty-grit sandpaper. Without thinking, I rip it from the seam. Dammit, that’s another hole .
“Fine.”
“I love you,” I tell her, just as she says “bye” and hangs up.
Fucking great.